Cemetery Silk Read Online Free PDF

the warmth from the hot summer day, and I remembered how scratchy they were on bare knees as we crawled up the slope to the top where we held hands around the chimney.
    I have no memory of either fear or bravado, just the pure joy and freedom of doing as we wished.
    We continued our nighttime forays for several summers, never telling anyone lest they drop a word in the wrong place. Our daytime world was very small. Everyone knew all our secrets, but our nighttime world was big as the wide star-filled summer sky and extended as far as we could roam in bare, dew-wet feet.
    Gradually the wooden floor’s wide hand hewn pine boards became more comfortable than any bed and I drifted off to sleep. I dreamed of flying high over the roof and chimney.
    In my dream there were no clouds to cover the moon. Its white light crawled lazily over the big magnolia and brightened the leaves on the crepe myrtle and the wintersweet. I moaned and tried to wake up as I saw a dark figure enter my dreamscape. I feared the menacing sound of the heavy feet crunching in the gravel of the driveway. That dream sound startled me to wakefulness. I held my breath and listened intently for the footsteps. I heard only the soothing song of small night creatures. I relaxed and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
    I awoke at six in the morning when Mother’s part-time housekeeper, Mabel, coaxed her noisy fourteen year-old clunker gingerly up the gravel driveway. The old engine coughed and choked, and backfired loudly as she turned it off. I forced my stiff and aching body up off the floor with enormous effort and shut the doors to keep out the noxious fumes emanating from her so-called automobile. The bed that had done nothing for me last night now beckoned with an undeniable allure. I tumbled in and soon found myself falling under the spell of soft pink.
    I opened my eyes again four hours later. It did not take me any time at all to know where I was. The room was dear and familiar to me. I gazed fondly from one forever known item to another. The big bay window looked out over the front yard where my swing had been. The late morning sun filtered through the miniblinds and over a window seat that was home to a whole population of dolls and stuffed animals. The more beloved ones were missing button eyes and an arm or two. None had come through my childhood unscathed.
    The bottom drawer of the tall walnut chest of drawers in the corner reportedly still held some of my baby clothes; however, since it had been stuck for decades this was impossible to prove. I harbored a secret dream that all my lost toys and comic books were in there, that they were safe and waiting for me like my favorite prom dresses which hung, sequined ghosts, in the back of the big walk-in closet.
    Besides the walnut chest there were only a few other pieces of furniture in the room. The closet was fitted with shelves and drawers so not much else was needed. An old and very comfortable lady’s armchair and ottoman sat in front of the small fireplace. Bookcases on each side of the chimney reached to the ceiling and were filled with books of all my different ages.
    The last piece of furniture was a small and intricately carved Victorian dressing table. It was a wedding gift to my grandmother and hers to me. My own wedding picture sat in front of the mirror in an ornate gold frame. I used to hide it whenever I came for a visit but it would magically reappear over and over to remind me of love lost. I tired of finding new hiding places, and then, finally, I no longer cared.
    The room was a time capsule. It was full of both good and bad memories, all of them mellowed by the passage of years.
    I stretched and heard my stomach grumble. It was reminding me that my normal breakfast time was several hours ago. Mabel made the best French toast in the western world. Maybe it wasn’t too late to beg her to indulge me.
    Mabel made my French toast that first morning but that was the last we saw